


DC14: Halloween

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Halloween: The Gang goes trick-or-treating, but it isn't candy they are bringing back to Lotties.Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC14: Halloween

“Halloween”

 

 

 

Wheat stepped up to the dark walnut bar braced to the side wall and plucking a piece of paper, from the cubby above it, he made a show of filling it out; while softly conversing with Curry standing beside him.

When the only other customer present appeared done with her business, Curry smiled and with a tip of his hat stepped through the front door, holding it open for her.

“Why thank you young men, what delightful manners your Mother has trained into you.”

Bowing his head, he stated clearly, “You’re welcome and thank you, Ma ‘am.”

As her black heels clicked off her departure, Heyes walked through the still open door with Preacher in his shadow.

Looking left and right, Curry stepped in, flipping the sign to 'closed' and followed his partner to the wide, hip high counter. Before he reached his partner’s side, Heyes laid a partially filled Treasury Department Certificate on the polished counter.

The lanky, thin clerk behind it barely looked up, his eyes remaining hidden beneath the green visor he wore, “Are you wishing to add stamps to your certificate?”

“In a way,” Heyes replied, the mirth in his voice catching the clerk’s attention, for his head tilted a touch and setting his pen down, he looked up. His narrowed eyes widened, darting to the ratcheting of Preacher’s repeater rifle, the double-click of Wheat’s six-shooter and back to the very, close, very large bore of Curry’s Peacemaker; looking anything but peaceful.

Leaning in, Heyes passed him a wink, “No sudden moves.”

Hopping up on the counter, Wheat slid across with Heyes right behind him, ordering, “Clear the drawers.”

Clawing into the first drawer, Wheat shoved currency in his saddle bag.

“Wheat!” Heyes barked from within the open safe, even as he stacked bundles of notes and certificates in his own bags. “Don’t forget the stamps this time.”

“How was I to know we needed them, thought they were for mailing letters.”

Curry smiled, softly saying, “Look like a post office to you?”

“No,” was Wheate’s muttered response as he snagged the box full of square, faded orange and blue stamps.

Before he could dump them in his bag, Curry said, “Might want to put ‘em in an envelope.”

Wheat’s mouth pursed tight, but jerking open a lower drawer; he rummaged about removing a large brown envelope and tumbled the stamps inside.

“You men have made a grievous mistake. Do you not know, the reason, no one ever thinks of robbing Lone Gulch is because we are surrounded by miles and miles of flat land with nowhere to hide from a posse.”

Bumping the man to the side, Wheat smiled at him, emptying his drawer, “May be so, but, we feel pretty right certain ‘bout ourselves.”

Raising his chin, the clerk flared his nostrils, “Well, I for one shall laugh in your face when they drag each of you back here.”

“I would invite you to do so…” Heyes stated buckling his saddle bags and slinging them over his shoulder, “however…” he gestured to a chair, “it will not be happening.”

Stiffly the clerk walked to the chair and sat down, studying the man securing him with rawhide from his intelligent dark eyes, to the thick black, nearly touching his shoulders, hair, to his gray ranch coat and the pistol tied down to his butternut colored pant leg.

“Get a good solid look?” Heyes asked, flashing his boyish smile. “Let me make it easier for you… you tell them it was the Devil’s Hole Gang who visited you.”

The man swallowed, his eyes drifting to Curry, “that means the pair of you are….”

Tipping his hat back with the barrel of his Colt before holstering it, Curry replied, “Kid Curry.”

Having pulled the trussed up clerk’s kerchief from his jacket pocket, Heyes flipped and twisted it into a gag, “Hannibal Heyes, any last words?”

Looking a shade or two paler, the clerk shook his head.

“Good ‘cause I got a schedule to keep.” Heyes replied, tying the gag about the man’s mouth and snagging the keys dangling from his vest before leaping across the wide counter.

“As ya can see we ain’t the brutes they make us out to be in the papers, we’re gentlemen bandits.” Wheat stated as boastfully as the winner of a prize fight and tweaking one end of his mustache, he grinned, “Ya can tell ‘em Wheat Carlson told you so.”

Rolling his eyes, Heyes tossed the keys in the air, catching them and slipped out the door after Preacher. Once they were all out, he paused to lock the bank’s front door and pocketed the keys.

Disappearing into the alley, they slid across and down the way to the backside of the General Store, where they casually swung up on their horses, Lobo was holding.

“Others have instructions to leave town by twos, at a nice, easy-going pace, after they see you and Lobo leave.” Curry stated, nodding to his partner. “Wheat and I will follow, once I know all of you are out.”

From the alley, Curry watched the Devil’s Hole Gang abandon Lone Gulch, kicking up so little dust not even the dogs sunning themselves bothered to raise their heads to watch. When he and Wheat started down the main drag, Wheat twisted in his saddle looking back.

Low in his throat, Curry snarled, “Don’t do that!”

“What?”

“Look about like you're expecting a reaction.”

Slumping down in his saddle, Wheat took on the appearance of the cowhand, saddle tramp he had been before his outlaw days, “better.”

“Much.” Curry passed him a grin, hanging loose and easy on his own horse, “want us looking like nothing more than drifters.”

“Can’t we move any faster?”

“Yep, if we wanted to draw attention, which, I’m not.”

A large sigh escaped in a puff of warm breath from Wheat and fiddling with his reins he glanced at Curry, “Uhm, Kid… uh, Heyes has never said a word ‘bout the prank I pulled on him.”

Looking over, his face as blank as freshly fallen snow, Curry stated, “prank.”

“At Lottie’s.”

“Oh, that…” there was a smile sparkling about the corners of the crisp, blue eyes, “wouldn’t want to be you.”

Swallowing, Wheat reached up, rubbing at the back of his neck, “was he pretty sore?”

“Would you be?”

The bushy mustache dipped down, the tips making the frown look even deeper, “he say anything to you?”

 “Why would he?”

“We all know, Heyes confides in you.”

Tugging his hat lower, Curry replied, “not as much as I’d like some days and if you’re hemming about trying to find out what he’s planning against you.” The smile slipped, coming free, “he’s keeping it closer to him than he did his clothes.”

Any other time, Wheat would have laughed, but he knew Heyes well enough to know this was not a laughing matter and another sigh escaped.

“Like I said, wouldn’t want to be you.”

Beyond town, they rounded a bend, coming head on into a line of drawn pistols that were immediately lowered.

“Golly, thought y’all might’en’ been caught.”  

“Riding casual takes time, Kyle.” Wheat replied and tipping his head toward Curry went on, “specially, when you’re ridin’ with him.”

There were several chortled laughs, as the men knew how serious Curry could be, when it came to caution. Feeling someone watching him, Wheat turned to find Heyes’ black eyes boring into him and his jocularity dried up.

The tension could be felt and all eyes went to Heyes, shifting his eyes to meet them, he adjusted his hat before saying, “All right boys, we have fifty miles to cover tonight, then we’ll trade horses at the Villanova Ranch, and cover another fifty, but by then we will be on home ground… so to say.”

“I don’t know.” Lobo stated flatly, shifting in his saddle. “Each of’n us knows makin’ thirty miles in that time is doin’ damn good on any hoss.”

“Lobo’s right. What if’n we don’t make it?” Kyle asked, spitting on the ground between him and Hank. “Our horses will be done in and we’ll be caught for sure.”

“It’ll work.” Curry said firmly. “Learned how during a poker game with some of those yellow stripes wearing soldier boys.” Leaning forward on his saddle horn, he held up a finger, “first we walk, then trot, then gallop… each time only for fifteen minutes. They bragged how a horse can go all day and night like that, if you stop and give ‘em a hat full of water every few hours.”

John sucked in his lower lip, looking twice as doleful and pathetic as normal, “sure hope it works.”

“It will.”

Scratching at his reddish beard, Lobo shook his head, “If ‘n it wasn’t ‘gainst my best interest, I’d put money down, we’re going to kill more than one of these broomtails for were done.”

Buttoning his coat against the night's chill, Curry said, “go on, Heyes, tell ‘em what you always tell me.”

The well-known, brash smile appeared, “come on boys, have a little faith.”

The pocket watch chain was clacking against the saddle horn, as the watch bobbed along nestled in Heyes’ hand, until he called, for probably the fifth time, “Walk!”

Before them, the moon hung heavy above the tall, brittle grass leading them ever deeper into the west. And, when the night dimmed, becoming purplish, the horizon behind them was empty, other than the soft blush of impending dawn. 

Curry whoa’ed his horse alongside the gate the ‘rocking V’ brand hung above, wearing a full gloating smile as each member of his gang passed by. Their horse’s fur stood out ragged and curly from sweat and steam rose from them, but not a single one was baked or gimping. At the corral, he leapt down, feeling proud of himself.

“Knew you were right.” Heyes bragged, popping Curry on the back, a puff of dust rising from

the sheepskin coat.

The wide, toothy smile which often led people to believe Curry was younger than he was, appeared.

Exiting the house, a short, thin man with stooped shoulders and suspenders crossed over a faded, red, flannel undershirt, called, “Buenos días, Señor Heyes. Did not think ya would make it in before the sun, but ya did.”

“Like I tell my men, you need to have a little faith, Hector.”

“Me, I got plenty of faith, but I not spread it out beyond me own familia.” Hitching his thumbs in his suspender braces, he looked Heyes in the eye. “But, I should know to have faith in ya, Señor

Heyes. Your regular mounts be fed, watered, and rested.” Hector Villanova pointed to the large

corral of milling horses, before holding out his weathered, calloused palm. “We shook on $2,000 for keepin’ yours and rentin’ mine.”

Heyes smiled like a cat licking cream and with a shake of his head, he unbuckled one saddle bag, “you sure ‘bout that price, Hector?”

“Sí. I always sure when it comes to dinero.” Hector replied, passing amongst his horses as the gang pulled their saddles transferring them to their own mounts. “Charged you so much, because, I figured I would be needin’ to shoot a few of these cayuses when ya returned ‘em. But, they look quite buena, need resto, but buena.”

Walking over with his hands jammed in the deep pockets of his gray coat, Heyes asked, “Mean, I get a discount??”

“Ha!” Hector’s thin shoulders rattled with his bolted laugh and he punched Heyes in the bicep, “always admire your hopeful spirit, amigo.”

Heyes nodded, holding on to his closed-lip smile.

“No discount. Ya can afford it, is what I consider.”

“That we can,” Heyes replied, pulling a bundle of hundred dollar bank notes from his pocket. “In fact, Hector,” Heyes tossed him the entire bundle, “I added a bonus if you never saw us.”

“Me, I no see a one of you.” Hector rifled the bills like a deck of cards, “Especialmente you, Señor Hannibal Heyes.” His smile drifted to Curry and “you too Señor, would not want people to

say, I consort with the wrong sort. It be hard being different around, so many…. shall we say… who are not Catholic. But, ah, Señors to be known for harborin’ bad men, that would be my undoin’.”

Heyes laughed, “Hector, far as bad men go, I’d say we’re pretty good, bad men.”

The bushy walrus mustache adorning Hector’s face vibrated and through his robust laughter, he asked, “You want me to inform ‘em of that, when they come askin’ about you and Señor Curry?”

Heyes’ notorious smile broke free, “best not.”

One by one, the Devil’s Hole Gang drug themselves back into their saddles, grousing every inch it took for them to get there.

“Come on Boys, one more ride and there is hot food, drinks, and beds awaiting us at Lottie’s.”

Waving good-bye to Hector, Heyes called out, “Ride.”

Their fresh horses snorted, a few kicking up their heels in the crisp morning light, but the fifteen minute gallop reminded them they were tame ponies and not the mustangs they had thought themselves to be upon leaving the Villanova Ranch. They were walking and the men rode loose, slumped in their saddles. Exhaling long and hard,

Heyes closed his eyes, letting his body sway with the steady rhythm of his horse. Feeling himself drifting, he enjoyed the half-doze, when with a snap his head came up. Looking to his battered watch, he saw nearly fifteen minutes had passed. Rolling his neck side to side, he looped his reins about his saddle horn, and rising in his stirrups, arched his back. Settling back in, he found Wheat had fallen in alongside him.

“Better.”

Heyes nodded

“Kid sure was right.”

Heyes nodded, again.

“You planned it all just right, too.”

 His tone holding just enough bite to rankle the older man, Heyes said, “You wanting something?”

“No! Just making conversation.”

Glancing at the watch, its long hand reaching for the six, Heyes replied, “Don’t recall requesting any. Trot!” With the increase in speed, the two fell apart, allowing Heyes to grin; a malicious

grin that his partner saw clearly.

When the next call came to walk, Curry moved in close to his cousin, “you got Wheat all on edge.”

“Good.” Heyes said, “Won’t be happy ‘till he’s tiptoeing by me.”

Taking off his hat, Curry scrubbed at his matted curls, “Keep telling you, it’d be best if you just let this go.”

Heyes’ mouth quirked, his nose wrinkling.

“No harm was done.”

An eyebrow arched Curry’s direction.

“You weren’t injured.”

“You tell me how you feel when it’s you using your Colt for cover.”

“I do that all the time.” Curry answered, almost getting it out without snorting.

Heyes’ jaw tightened and glancing at his watch, he saw they still had a few minutes.

“Come on, Heyes, you gotta admit it was funny.”

Throwing a baleful look at his life-long pal, Heyes wheeled his sorrel about, walking down the line of his gang members. “We got about another hour and we’ll be in town. We’re going to ride up to Lottie’s like it was any other night, eat dinner, and crawl into bed.”

“Ain’t gonna be like any other night,” Merkle called, “Cause most nights, I’m asleepin’ alone and tonight I’m plannin’ to nest up with Lilly.”

A chorus of grunts of agreement and similar comments rolled forth, and when they quieted, Heyes called, “Trot.”

Dusk was smothering the land when they swung sedately into Lottie’s corral, riding straight into the barn. A couple of gang members stripped their saddles, tossing them over a rail and heading straight for the barn doors.

“Halt!” Curry called from the off side of his big bay, not wanting to see who it was, he continued checking and cleaning the horse’s hooves, “see properly to your horse, it served you well and what if you need it later.”

After that, every man, took his time, and groomed their mount until the entire herd shone like award winning racers.

Setting his hat back on his head, Kyle beamed, “Don’t think I ever seen our stock look so fine.”

Dropping an arm across Kyle’s shoulder, Curry leaned on him, saying, “No one is going to consider they traveled fifty miles today either.”

“That be for sure.”

“But, I sure as hell feel like I did.” Lobo complained, rolling his shoulders. “… And more.”

Hank put in, “don’t recall, last time I was so bone tired, worn down.”

“I do.” Lobo answered, looking to Heyes, who was walking up with his saddle bags hanging over his shoulder. “It was the reason; I gave up drivin’ steers up the Chisholm Trail.”

 “Driving steers never paid like this,” Heyes replied, handing a stack of bank notes to each gang member.

 Despite how tired they were the jubilation of pay day from such a smooth, effortless heist perked up their moods and they joshed each other, all the way to Lottie’s front porch.

 Ringing the bell, the door was answered by a lumpy, short man in the brightest, gaudiest,cowboy regalia they had seen since a Wild West Show passed through Denver. Heyes brows shot

up and immediately, dropped down low, “Is Lottie here?”

 A tittering laugh erupted, “costumes that good, is it, Hun?” and the large brimmed hat was pushed up revealing Lottie’s pale but still, elaborately charcoaled eyes. “Come on in, each of yuse is welcome as always.”

 “Why you decked out so?” Curry asked, following after her.

 “Why, Sugah, it's Halloween and we’re havin’ a….” she waved her hand to the gaily attired and wildly costumed crowd. “… Masquerade.”

 All the gang members grinned, the party goers washing away some of their tiredness, when with a boisterous laugh Curry bumped against Heyes, roaring, “And, you without your bloomers.”

 At that, the entire gang broke into snorting, guffawing laughter.

 Heyes flamed red, turning on Wheat.

 Wheat slapped a hand across his mouth.

 But then a smile erupted on Heyes’ face that brought to mind the evil that Halloween hinted of and pointing a finger at Wheat, he turned away walking into the party.

 “Like I said, before---”

 “I know, Kid, you wouldn’t want to be me.”

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
